Doomsday Clock
by The Archaic Minister
Summary: ...And as our laughter melted the skies, our morality became the prognosis of our eternal undoing.
1. Beckoning the Child

**This will be adjunct to my other primary works.**

**That's all.**

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"We are entering dark times once more," his uncle said, flatly, "just as that madman of a prophet had foreseen."

The man's back was facing his nephew. He was staring, sadly, yet with countenance, out the window.

--

He was one of the only living creatures in existence who was immune to the Grand Master's unspeakable power.

But he was a weak man.

Physical weakness paired with a seemingly emaciated physique were both defects which ran strong through the Wallace family bloodline; they were so prominent, in fact, that such traits did not dilute over multiple generations even the slightest bit.

--

His personal study was dimly lit; the sun had almost completely disappeared, now crouching behind the mountains and turning them darker than dark should appear.

A lazy, orange glow seemed to be all that remained of what had been broad daylight only hours before. It radiated unspeakable somnolence.

You would have reacted to this aura like every other mortal had; I feel more than ready for bed, you would have thought, but it's not late enough yet.

--

That feeling of forced ambivalence. Drowsiness you brought upon yourself without lifting a finger; drowsiness that you welcome with open arms, then suddenly feel wrong about and unwelcoming of.

--

You try, desperately, to cast it aside, but find it one of the hardest self-induced challenges of all time.

--

It's just like jet-lag. Exactly like it, only hypnotic. Your biological clock throws _itself_ out of whack.

--

Garth, a boy adopted into a human family at age four, felt exactly this.

He was only eight years old, and naïve, even for his age.

His red chao, dozing off on the floor, was equally inexperienced.

--

The young feline didn't understand what his uncle, a human belonging to a frail heritage, meant.

Garth was lazily sprawled out on the brown, leather couch. His right hand swayed sluggishly back and forth as it hung freely over the edge.

--

That hypnotic, solar aura left him half-asleep. His eyes half-closed, he seemed to experience short dream sequences while still conscious of his surroundings.

Each time, he would violently shake his head to keep awake. It was only seven. He didn't _want_ to sleep yet. Something about it just wasn't right.

Normally an active child, Garth was among the crowd who considered sleeping during the day a waste of precious time best spent doing trivial things.

--

His uncle held behind his back a dusty, age-abused, red, hardcover book of some sort. With the hand which grasped the book, he tapped it continuously against his other palm at a consistent pace.

--

That, aside from the sound of the softly-ticking clock, was all that could be heard in the study.

--

Tap, tap, tap.

--

The cat broke the silence with an innocent question.

"Uncle Cadoc, what's a prophet?" Garth muttered tiredly, his eyes still half-closed.

--

"Prophets," Cadoc said, still staring blankly out the window, "are individuals who claim to possess the ability to see into the future."

He continued, "They are often very troubled men, ostracized by society and miserable with their own obsessions."

--

"So prophet people are fortune-tellers?" Garth asked naïvely.

"You could say that," the human replied, "you could very well say that."

--

A long pause. It seemed to stretch on forever, but it lasted only a minute or so.

--

Silence broken.

--

"Uncle Cadoc, what are 'dark times'?" the boy asked, "is it when the sun doesn't come out for awhile?"

"And is a madman a person who's really angry all the time?"

--

"Not at all," Cadoc replied, "but, you may be too young still to understand."

--

Thirty seconds passed.

--

"Uncle Cadoc," Garth slurred, "what's that book you have all about?"

Cadoc was surprisingly patient with his nephew's habit of nagging.

"It is a book of truths," he replied simply, "it tells a tale of anguish, sorrow, defeat, slaughter, evil, and eventual triumph. Only, it is a true story."

Garth knew not the meaning of almost every word his uncle had just used to describe the old book.

--

"Uncle Cadoc, does that book have any pictures inside?" the cat asked immaturely.

"It does not," the human replied, "it lacks illustration. The madman published his artwork separately, often in the form of murals and such."

--

"Well, then I don't really wanna read that book, then," Garth said, almost like a brat.

He was anything but bratty in nature, though.

--

"That is fine," Cadoc replied, "you are far too young to comprehend, nay, endure the secrets this piece of literature holds."

"What types of secrets?" Garth asked, now sitting up, "can it say the secret to finding the answer to my math homework?"

--

Cadoc's countenance crept into a slight smirk.

He rarely smiled. All the time he devoted to researching chemistry and alchemy, in addition to how much he invested in his more personal projects, left him a stressed man.

He was rather seclusive and anti-social, and few knew him outside of his immediate family and research colleagues.

He was a rather weak-willed and emotionally-stressed chemistry professor.

His emotions in particular.

--

"No, Garth," he responded, "it holds secrets not meant for mortal eyes."

"Doesn't mortal mean people who die?" the cat asked naïvely.

--

"Yes, it does," strangely, he seemed to be holding back strong, baleful emotions.

"Then doesn't that mean you die if you read that book or something? Wait, that makes no sense..." he underwent a rare moment of logical realization just then.

His red chao, Zero, was making near-silent snoring noises. The chao stopped momentarily as it sluggishly rolled over from its back onto its side, then continued with its deep breathing.

--

"You will not die if you read it," Cadoc said, "but, you shouldn't look through its musty pages. It is a sad tale, and only a few chosen individuals may so much as learn its secrets, or read through it, for that matter."

--

The sun was all but gone now. A brown-coned lamp was the room's new light source.

"But if it's a true story, why do only a few people know about it?" Garth asked, "is it one of those top-secret books?"

He was undergoing a flash of "brilliant" reasoning rarely observed in his character.

--

Five minutes transpired.

Cadoc was the one to break the pause this time.

--

He sighed, heavily.

"Yes, you could very well say that," he said flatly, "only a few trusted individuals may read it."

--

"But Uncle Cadoc, why are you allowed to read it if only the army people can read it?" Garth had a habit of associating the "government" directly with "the army people". Very typical for his age.

--

"Not even officials of the Guardian Units of the Nations are permitted access to this book," Cadoc replied, "only the president, GUN's top generals, myself, your...father, and a few others may."

--

"But why?" Garth asked, "if only the president and the army generals are supposed to know about it, why do you and Artemis?"

--

Cadoc's hands seemed to tremble slightly as they hung behind his back. He never wanted to hear utterance of Artemis' name.

--

"My brother and I were children when this book was written," Cadoc said, rather hesitantly yet patiently, "we were also at the very center of the events that transpired. The events which resulted in the book I hold now."

--

Garth didn't quite understand what was so special about that.

Finally, his uncle turned away from the window for the first time since he had entered the room hours before.

Putting the book on the sill, he took off his glasses and cleaned them before replacing them over his eyes.

--

"It looks as though your mother is back from her latest archaeological expedition," he said. He had seen her from out the window.

--

"It is getting late," picking up the forbidden book, he walked in the direction of the door.

"Your mother is waiting."

--

As Cadoc walked past him, Garth stole a quick glimpse at that forbidden book's cover.

--

_The Doomsday Clock: The True War To End All Wars_

--

A war book? He'd seen plenty of those in the study before.

What profoundly shocked the young cat, though, was the ancient book's subtitle, printed in small text beneath the title.

--

_A Tale Beginning 3037 That Shall Continue Until Universal Extinction_

--

Garth was dumbfounded.

_3037? That was, like, 4,000 years ago or something!_ He thought.


	2. Restless Spirit

For two months every summer, Cadoc would return to his private residence for the remainder of the season.

--

The house, painted a ghostly white and containing many rooms despite its somewhat diminutive dimensions, rested, in complete isolation from society, among a scattered mess of titanic pines and magnolias ingrained upon soft, green hills.

--

For nearly two-hundred kilometers around, the green hills were omnipresent, and glorious, snow-capped silver mountains of varying complexions surrounded this enormous and beautiful green valley.

--

It was a part of Kristoferein Isle, an island about the size of our world's Cuba.

Kristoferein was a land of exotic and extreme environments; roughly one-third of its landmass was covered in rainforest, one-half consisting of enormous valleys and mountain ranges, and the remainder a mix of coniferous and dedicious forests with numberless quarries and caverns. It also had two active volcanoes, neither of which posed a grave threat.

--

The trees formed a tiny grove around Cadoc's house, with each and every gargantuan pine and outstretched magnolia spaced meters apart, at their closest.

--

The grove, in its entirety, could not hide a wild deer. At the point where the trees were their absolute closest to being considered a tight cluster, there was a small clearing, watched over by the light of the sun; at the center, an adolescent magnolia, its branches almost earth-bound and outstretched like the palm of a beckoning hand, crouched.

As many would assume from looking at it, this tree was ideal for climbing; Garth often slept in it during days when his rather boring uncle took care of him in the midst of his mother's absence each summer.

--

Beneath the magnolia's shadow was a small, round, black iron table and two matching chairs.

The small grove was its own, unique dimension; time never ceased to stand completely still there, and those who entered felt a sense of euphoria and immortality.

--

It will always be this way, they would think.

Change will never come.

--

--

First it is mine; when you, the second, enters, it becomes ours. Two more, and it belongs to all of us.

Six, then seven, then eight, and I grow weary. It's mine again, no longer ours.

Leave. Get out.

You disturb the sinlessness, the tranquility, the beauty of this place.

It is mine now.

You. The second.

I no longer see you as any different than the other six, now that you have been juxtaposed with them.

It has now struck me: nearly every disgusting creature on this planet is tainting nature.

There are far too many of us crowding and polluting this world. Our posterity may know only a setting of overpopulation, of unrestricted access, of deforestation.

As our numbers continue to rise uncontrollably, nature will be destroyed. Resources shall diminish.

The world you idiots will leave them... they will have no choice but to attempt to counter such a juggernaut.

By the time they decide to act, however, it will be too late. Everything belongs to everybody, everything must be divided no matter what consequences result.

Those in power will be forced to distribute resources so that every one of these imbeciles, popping up every second at an exponentially increasing rate, will have just enough to survive.

When the quota has been filled, though, people will demand more, and faster. The quality of life must be fair for everyone.

The leaders will resolve to destroying even more nature, helping even more businesses improve the quality of life, help build even more bloody homes.

Some of them will step forward. They shall say, "why can't we just control population growth? Everyone should have no more than one child! Better yet, there should be policies that allow us to increase our numbers only as deemed manageable on a global scale!"

But it will be far too late, and those waste-happy idiots will only say, "not a chance. We will _not_ defile the rights of citizens. We will _not_ defile the religious practices of others. We will _not_ object to popular interest."

Soon, there will be so many of us that the planet shall boil from overuse of its resources and available space.

World leaders will have no place. Anarchy will erupt.

The world will end.

I shall not let this happen. There must be justice and order in this pitiful, tainted world, and I shall crusade to ensure it.

Leave, you, the second, the third and fourth, the fifth, sixth, and seventh. Leave my grove, and never return.

Whether or not you oppose me, there shall always exist the possibility of my revolution requiring your death.

--

--

Power.

--

Nearly all who enter this mysterious grove may feel this powerful message echo, subliminally, from an unknown source.

The grove's absolutely beautiful serenity seems to hide a sense of corruption, of anger.

--

A need to make a profound change. A perfect world, untaintable, where everyone can live without worry.

--

It instills upon those who enter an unbearable lust for conquest, for happiness, for immortality, for tranquility, for everything they had ever wished and striven for.

--

An image of both the need for power and love for the world.

--

It is forbidden.

--

--

Cadoc left his study, book in hand, each carefully-placed step bringing him closer to the front door.

--

His routine and compulsively organized behavior was so deeply embedded into him that it seemed to be as repetitive-- and predictable-- as the ticking of a clock's hands over a single day.

--

The short, fat one, the long and slender one, the skinny, quick-moving one that created the tick, exotic and often a color other than black; each hand ticked in exactly the same fashion for every hour, minute, and second that passed, respectively exclusive to each.

--

In a way, Cadoc's daily agenda worked similarly when he was not researching or teaching at the university.

So organized, so precisely and approximately locked.

--

The chemistry professor looked rather silly in his white lab coat while he was not working.

His nephew sprang back to life, and Cadoc only continued to calmly pace in the direction of the door as Garth and his chao sped past, instigating something of a draft.

_--_

Ever since Garth had sneaked into the forbidden grove without permission two years before, Cadoc had observed that his nephew was unaffected by the angry and lustful aura that His spirit had been spitefully spreading.

All others of whom he had made the horrible mistake of inviting into the grove in past years had either turned corrupt, evil, or mentally unstable; only he, his brother Artemis, the other Seven of the Nine Unknown, and Garth were so far immune to His influence.

--

Cadoc had taken steps to seal off the entrance to the grove by installing a tall, opaque iron fence all around the small patch of forest sheltering the grove.

He couldn't destroy the grove, for it acted as a seal on His frustrated soul, to keep it from escaping.

--

--

"Alana," Cadoc said as Garth's foster mother opened the door, "good to see you again."

--

The human woman, possibly approaching her fifties, her long grey hair in a ponytail, replied, "it's good to see you again as well... are you returning to the university already?"

Obviously, she found it rather heretical that Cadoc tended to wear his lab coat even when he was on leave.

"No, no, not yet," he replied, somewhat sheepishly, "anything of interest turn up on your latest expedition?"

--

"Well," Alana replied, "we didn't exactly uncover the site ourselves, but we did find a few interesting things."

"Oh? Where was the site?"

"It was the internal of the Ziggurat of Chaos," Alana said, "for years, we've been unable to open the entrance. Allegedly, none other than the world-famous Sonic had been the one to open it."

--

Zaxted, Garth's 14 year-old foster brother, was looking at his watch impatiently as he stood at the doorway.

Garth was already in the car, restlessly playing around inside by climbing over the seats, eventually slumping in the trunk with his chao.

Alana and Cadoc continued talking for at least another ten minutes.

--

"It would be nice if we could get going sometime _today_," Zaxted groaned irritatedly.

When both adults finally stopped, the prissy human began to walk back towards the car before tripping over a rock and falling flat on his face.

Embarrassing accidents such as these happened to young, clumsy Zaxted almost every day.

--

Before long, goodbyes were exchanged, shouts of "get into your seat, Garth!" were heard, and deafening engine roars resonated as the family's chauffeur set the car to lift off, smog up the air, and eventually disappear between the mountains.

--

With the usual timed steps, Cadoc walked upstairs, into his private chamber.

--

It was a mess, like a construction site or a garbage dump, only exclusively of books, posters, torn pages tacked to the walls, and a simple bed.

--

The human, still carrying his book, removed several stacks of old books from atop his bed until only an ancient, thrifty, rolled-up scroll of paper remained in view.

--

Cadoc unrolled it, revealing it to be some sort of mural.

--

Very dark, morbid, and forbidding was the image it projected; a mad, depressed prophet had painted it, after all.

The foreground, it showed a menacing portrait of Him; in the middle, there was Cadoc's brother, Artemis, smirking slyly, with an outstretched palm holding a white orb with a strange symbol embossed on it.

--

In the background, there was a towering hellfire, exploding air and spacecraft, miserable bodies on fire, buildings collapsing.

Instead of a sky, the space behind the wall of fire was filled by the image of a giant clock, set to one minute before midnight, its motionless hands seeming to somehow tick closer and closer to doomsday.

--

--

_Garth, I hope you're determined to find this book's secrets now. You must learn, and you must aid that child..._ Cadoc thought, eying the prophetic book he had laid aside on his bed.


End file.
